


Where I Want to Be

by mags1999



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen (Song), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mags1999/pseuds/mags1999
Summary: Lane, an American woman with a hippy past and an Oxford degree in English, moves to London. One night, she gets hit on by a certain blonde drummer and, after shooting him down, meets the rest of the band. From there spirals a story of love and uncertainty as Lane tries to move past her previous insecurities and hesitations to find new love and happiness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello loves! I'm cross posting this fic on here and on my Tumblr! Come check out my blog rogers-sweatbands xoxo

They had been cramped in Roger’s shitty van for what seemed like ages, but in reality, had only been around four hours. The band had found themselves playing for university pubs around the United Kingdom for the past two months or so, a mini-tour of sorts. It had been Freddie’s idea, a way to get a feel of how people felt about Queen in a place that wasn’t the same pub they’d been playing in London for far too long. “Not everyone is The Laughing Fox. We need a bigger fanbase.” He insisted during practice one evening. “We need _more_.”  And while it was hard to get “more” when the band didn’t have more than two pennies to rub together, it was Freddie’s insistence that got them on the road and playing anywhere and everywhere they could get a gig.

 

The only _good_ thing about playing at university pubs was the free booze they’d get in addition to the small pension that would be split four-ways at the end of the night. While they weren’t raking in much money, at least they could get shitfaced for free. That’s why Roger didn’t completely despise uni tours. Well that, and the women that attended those concerts. Free booze and an easy lay, he couldn’t ask for much more. But this pub was different. Queen had been playing at The Laughing Fox long before Queen even existed, before Freddie and Deaky had joined the band, back when it was still Smile… those were simpler times. But there was something about coming back to The Laughing Fox that made the boys feel at home, especially Roger. Even when they weren’t playing, they’d still find themselves there most weekends to grab a few rounds and hang out with others who frequented the pub. The pub had been their watering hole when they were all still attending university, and although it was gross and dark, the beer was cheap, the jukebox had decent enough music if there wasn’t a live band, and it become a home away from home. The place to drink off bad days, the place to forget about life and play with the band on a Saturday night, the place to go when you needed to find a mindless fuck; The Laughing Fox had it all. Coming back to play there on their most recent small “tour” (if you could even call it that) was like coming full circle for all the boys. Queen had played their first concert _as_ Queen there and it was the first place Deaky played after he officially joined the band as the bassist. No matter where else they played, coming back to play a night there was like coming home to your family. Being up on that stage (although it was quite small and cramped having everyone and their instruments up there) was the kind of familiarity that was instantly comforting. They had even developed a decent fanbase out of the pub, many of the university students having come to their concerts since the band’s beginning. It was home and would _always_ be home.

 

The concert started without a hitch, the pub packed with their old classmates and other uni-aged students who had all come to see the band they had grown to love. Looking out over a sea of familiar faces made that night feel different from all the other concerts they had played recently. Roger wasn’t sure if it was the energy of the crowd mixed with their own, the fact that they were on their “home turf”, or a mixture of both, but the concert was indescribably better than any of the others they had played recently. They were almost through their set, everything going absolutely flawlessly, and gearing up to go into “Keep Yourself Alive” when Roger first spotted her. She snuck in through the door at the back, weaving her way through the few people standing against the wall to make it to the bar. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spend the entirety of the song attempting to place her, trying to figure out who the girl might be. However, if he was being honest, Roger knew he had never seen her before. Heaven knows he’d remember a face like that coming into a dingy, university pub like The Laughing Fox. She settled herself at a seat at the bar before waving down the bartender who quickly brought her a pint. She looked almost out of place at the back of the bar. It might’ve been because those who frequented the pub were such a close-knit group that any newcomer would be blatantly obvious, but she also stood out from the rest. He couldn’t exactly place why she stood out to him in a sea of people, but God knows he couldn’t take his eyes off of her for the rest of their set.

 

The set was fantastic, “bloody fantastic, darling” if you asked Freddie (which although no one did, he still said it aloud several times to himself as they broke down their equipment to put back into the van). They were rushing faster than normal, all of them excited to get back inside to get a few rounds and see their friends, but Roger was moving especially (and unusually) quickly.

“What’s gotten into you?” Brian stopped Roger as he watched him wrap amp chords at a speed he never would have thought possible.

Roger shrugged before inhaling another deep breath from the cigarette that he was balancing between his lips.

“You’re never this helpful with load up.”  
“Fuck off, mate. I’m helpful.”

“You’re almost as unhelpful as Freddie,” Deaky joked with a small chuckle, a rarity coming from the quiet boy.

Roger rolled his eyes as he tossed the chord in the van and removed the cigarette from his mouth. “I am _way_ more helpful than Freddie.”  
“No you’re not darling. Normally you’re snogging some bird in the alleyway at this point,” Freddie pointed out, an arm slung around Mary’s shoulders, her joining the boys out back after their set was done.

“He’s right,” Brian confirmed. “You’ve normally ditched us by this point.”  
“Well you guys load up too slowly. I’m trying to speed the process up. Sorry for helping.” Roger threw the cigarette butt on the ground, picking up another chord to wrap.

“You looked a bit distracted tonight, Rog.” Mary nudged with a smirk.

“Fuck off, I wasn’t distracted. Played a perfect show!”

“Your head wasn’t in it though, at least not in the end. You kept looking at the back of the pub.” She chuckled. “See anything you liked?”

“So now I’m going to be interrogated every time I look into a crowd?” Roger huffed, rolling his eyes again.

“Keep doing that and they’ll get stuck there.” Brian muttered as he loaded the last of the amps into the van before shutting the trunk and locking it. He tossed the keys back to Roger who stuffed them back into his pocket.

“You lot are being right assholes tonight.”  
“Just returning the favor, love.” Freddie smirked as he led them back into the pub, greeting all of their friends as they passed by.

 

The pub had quieted down significantly, most of the patrons leaving the bar following the conclusion of their set. He didn’t blame them though, they started their set almost an hour late and many of them had class the next morning. Roger stood quietly as he leaned against their table, his eyes trailed on the woman’s back. He had tuned out whatever conversation his friends were having around him, his focus on a more... _important_ subject. Roger’s ears perked up when he was able to pick up on her conversation with the bartender, she was commenting on the music that was playing in the background, some Simon and Garfunkel song that Roger hadn’t bothered learning the name of (nor did he care for). However, her American accent stuck out against everyone else’s. His lips pulled into a wide smirk as he finished the rest of his beer.

“Looks like someone found their next victim,” Mary giggled to Freddie as she followed Roger’s gaze to see him staring down the girl.

Roger turned to her and rolled his eyes, placing his empty pint glass on the table.

“Poor darling doesn’t know what’s about to hit her,” he retorted back, chuckling.

Roger glared at both of them before making his way to the bar, resting his elbows against the scratched wood before waving down the bartender for another pint. He allowed his eyes to trail down the empty bartop until they finally fell on her. While Mary was right that he had found his latest interest, Roger thought “victim” was too strong a word. However, this one would probably be one of the easiest to catch. An American, all alone at a pub, clearly new to the area… it honestly was too easy for him. Roger knew that if he fed her one of his lines, he’d have her exactly where he wanted her: in his bed in under an hour. However, when she finally looked at him, she immediately spoke.

“Can I help you?” She asked, rather bluntly, breaking Roger out of his long-held stare on her. Her immediate response startled him, most girls falling silent in his presence.

“Sorry?” he coughed before taking a long sip from the new pint that had been placed in his hand.

“You know staring can be considered rude, right?” She commented, pushing her hair behind her one shoulder. “Your mother must’ve raised you better than that.”

“She and my father did their best,” he retorted back, matching her smirk. “And I apologize for the staring, I’ve just never seen you in here before.”  
“So my having never been to this pub was your reasoning for staring at me for the past twenty minutes?” Her tone was uninterested as she rolled her eyes. “Could feel your gaze through my back.”

“Well… yeah?” Roger found himself falling flat in the presence of this girl. He normally didn’t have this much trouble _talking_ to women. Talking to women was one of the things he was good at. “I think I would’ve remembered a face like yours coming in here.”

The woman laughed in response, her face twisting into an amused smile. “I’m sorry, but that was so _bad_. You can’t expect it to be that easy.” She took another sip of her beer as she observed his smirk falter slightly. “I don’t mean to be rude but-”

“What I meant to say was that places like these seldom see new faces unless it’s the start of a new term.” Roger shifted to lean his side against the bar, his eyes never unlocking themselves from hers.

“Well you’re right, I have never been here before.”

“You already established that,” he said cheekily, his lips pulling into a smile. “You said you had never been here before when you snapped at me.”

“I far from snapped at you,” she scoffed, turning in her stool so she could face him directly.

“And I could also tell you’re not from around here.”  
“How?” She rolled her eyes as she took another sip from her beer.

“The accent.” Roger raised his eyebrows at her, stating the obvious giveaway.

Her face fell as she glared at him. “Well yeah, obviously.”

He raised his hands in defense before shaking his head. “You’re the one that asked.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, shifting herself back to face the bar.

Roger watched her for a moment before stepping towards her. “What brings an American girl to a dingy, university pub like this?”

“I just graduated from Oxford and moved to London,” she responded casually, her eyes studying the faded posters hung behind the bar.

Roger felt himself laugh before shaking his head at her. “No, seriously.”

Her head snapped to look at him, her mouth agape. “Believe it or not, an American _female_ can actually be smart enough to not only attend Oxford University, but also attain a degree.”

“N-No, that’s not what I meant by that-”

“Then what did you mean by your _scoffing_ of me being a graduate of Oxford?”

Roger paused as he attempted to find the correct words to say. “It’s...Oxford is a really good school, and it’s… hard… to get into… so you have to be… really smart.”

“And you don’t think I have the intelligence to get in?”  
“No! I’m just saying you must be really smart ‘tsal.”

She squinted at him for a moment before nodding. “I am really smart… finished near the top of my class.”

“What’d you major in?”

“English language and literature.”  
Roger laughed again before taking a long sip of his beer.

“What’s so funny?” She questioned, her eyebrows cinching as she studied his amused expression.

Roger shook his head. “I find it funny that people actually go and get a degree in a language they’re already fluent in.”

“Wow, you’re really an asshole, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying! You’re the one that asked why I was laughing.”  
“Well what are you majoring in, huh? You look like you’re university-aged. What major is so high and mighty that a conceited prick like you could be satisfied with that course of study?”

“Dentistry.” He responded with a smirk.

“No wonder, no person in their right mind would enjoy poking and prodding at people’s gums unless they were truly an awful person.”

Roger’s mouth fell agape as he watched her raise her almost empty glass in his direction. “I’m just saying.” She mocked with a wink before downing the rest of her pint.

“He’s a dropout too!” A voice called from behind her and she turned, Freddie wearing a wide smirk. “Dropped out to ‘focus on the band’.”

She turned to him with a twisted smile playing across her lips.“So you’re a university dropout who has the audacity to not only insult my alma mater, but also my course of study?”

“He’s a certified asshole.” The lead singer quipped again.

“Fuck off, Fred.” Roger mumbled before finishing the rest of his beer. “I’m not an asshole.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those assholes who loves to play the ‘I’m-Such-A-Nice-Guy’ card when seducing women? Those are the worst kind of guys.”

“I’m not one of those guys.” He stated angrily, his friends bursting into fits of laughter. “What? I’m not!”

The woman chuckled as she watched Roger’s face redden in frustration. “Well there are two types of seducer when it comes to guys like you.”  
“Guys like me?”  
“Pretty boys. Boys who can talk women into bed like it’s their job.” She responded, turning herself so she was facing the rest of the band. “Am I wrong?”

They all found themselves shaking their heads as Roger rolled his eyes.

“You guys are such great friends,” he sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not like that.”

A momentary silence fell over his friends before they began laughing again, the mystery girl joining in.

“What’re the two kinds of seducer?” Brian asked as the laughter was dying down.

“Mate!” Roger snapped.

“I’m sorry! I just want to know!” He raised his hands in defense before turning back to her.

“That’s a great question!” She assured Brian with a smile, ignoring the frustrated grunt from Roger. “Well the first kind of seducer doesn't actually _like_ women, he simply wants to assert his testosterone-fueled power over them… to prove his strength, manliness, dominance, something of that sort. Normally it’s because he’s insecure about _something_ in his life… it all boiling down to him lacking where he thinks it matters most. However, the second, and far more dangerous seducer: the guy who genuinely falls in love every evening only to fall out of it again the next morning. He wakes up next to the girl he so cleverly talked into bed and immediately plays the victim card, running away and telling her that he’s the one in pain and she's just ‘ _too much’_ for him to handle. Those are the seducers who aim to hurt the other… those are the ones that hurt the most.” The girl smirked over at Roger before taking a sip of the new pint that had been placed at her side. “So love, which one are you?”

The boys all chuckled as Roger’s face reddened. “I’m neither of those!”

She shrugged before taking another sip. “If you say so.”

“I like this girl,” Freddie laughed, basking in the embarrassment of his friend. “What’s your name, love?”

“It’s Lane.”

“Well Lane, as long as you keep putting Roger in his place, you’re more than welcome to hang around us as much as you want.” Freddie grinned.

“You know what?” Lane paused before looking over at Roger with a smirk. “I’d actually quite like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you all think!! Love to you all xoxo

John Deacon was never the confrontational type. From the day he was born, he would rather keep his mouth shut than risk embarrassing himself or getting involved when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. It didn’t matter the situation, if he could avoid opening his mouth, he’d take it. His avoidance of human engagement and interaction closely correlated with his relationship (or lack thereof) with women. John often found that his shyness would increase by 100% if an attractive woman was in his presence. He would attempt to put himself out there, however, even if he was able to get a conversation going, it would inevitably end a few moments later when he would go blank on conversation topics. Although John would never admit it, he was secretly jealous of Roger’s natural skills when it came to women. He had never seen Roger even remotely struggle when it came to flirting… or at least that was true until Lane came into the picture.

 

John had taken an immediate shine to Lane when he observed her tearing Roger to shreds at The Laughing Fox. He was actually the first one to notice Roger’s failing, nudging all of his friends to watch as he epically failed at picking her up. It was nice to finally see Roger be in the position of being flustered when it came to a woman.  _ Especially _ a woman who looked like Lane. John could have never dreamed of a woman like her, someone who was nothing short of perfect, so actually finding her was a whole other story. However, John knew that given the opportunity, he’d only be able to get a few words out if he were to strike up a conversation with her. There was something about her presence that completely mystified him… but that was a mystery he never wanted to solve.

* * *

Band practice had been nothing short of explosive, several arguments breaking out between Freddie and Roger as they were discussing where they wanted to go with the new music they were all writing. Freddie was still on his  _ “I want more”  _ campaign and Roger had reached the end of his rope of hearing him repeat that phrase.

“How the fuck are we supposed to get more, Fred? We’re doing the best we can, we did a pub tour for fucks sake. What else do you want from us?”

“I want an album, darling.” Freddie lowered his sunglasses so he could stare at all three of them directly. “That’s the next step.”   
“We can’t afford a fucking album! How the hell do you expect us to do that?”

Freddie paused for a moment as he thought about it. “Well we could always sell your van…”

The mere suggestion of Roger selling his van was enough to set the boy into flames, John having to hold him back in an attempt to keep him from beating Freddie’s face in. It was Brian who had suggested that they cut their practice short for the day, knowing that after Freddie made that comment, no work would actually get done. Unsurprisingly, the ending of rehearsal was the one thing that was agreed upon all day.

* * *

The weather was undeniably perfect when John began the journey back to his flat, his bass strapped to his back and his amp tucked under his arm. It was beginning to get annoying having to lug his equipment back and forth to Roger’s place all the time, but it wasn’t like he would ever complain about it aloud. He wouldn’t want to cause any  _ issues _ . He just hated when he’d accidentally bump into other people with his amp, earning an annoyed look before they sped up to walk ahead of him. He  _ truly _ hated confrontation.

 

Lane was lounged at an outdoor table at a small, hole-in-the-wall café she found in her neighborhood. A well-worn book sat in her lap as her forgotten tea tray laid virtually untouched on the table in front of her. She had almost leapt out of bed that morning when she saw the sunbeams pushing through her curtains. Ever since she had moved to London, the weather had been the same: dull, grey, and cold. However, the idea of being able to sit outside for hours on end, basking in the Sun’s warmth was almost too good to be true. She’d already made it through a book and a half by that point, having stuffed several novels in her bag before she left her flat. That was her plan for the day: sit at the café and read for as long as humanly possible. Lane honestly wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting at that table, but she couldn’t have cared less. She knew that this weather wasn’t going to last and she was going to soak up every last drop of sunlight that she could.

 

John was only two blocks from his apartment when he saw her sitting at the café in his neighborhood, his face warming at the mere sight of her. She looked absolutely enthralled in whatever she was reading, the novel perched on her lap as her legs were swung over the arm of the chair. Her mess of blonde curls had been half-heartedly pushed back with a pair of sunglasses and her sandals had been abandoned next to her bag. She looked angelic in that moment, the light falling on her  _ just right _ … John almost wished he had a camera so he could capture it for her. The way she was gently gnawing on her lip as she turned the page slowly, as if she were trying to absorb  _ every last word _ before moving on; the way her legs were gently swaying to some invisible beat; the way her eyes would widen when she got to a particularly good moment. He didn’t want to disturb her though, she was so captivated by her book that it would be a shame for him to pull her out of her trance. He knew his life would go on just the same if he continued right past her on his walk home. He’d end up seeing her that evening, Mary having invited her to come with them for drinks… he could speak to her then. Plus, that’d give him some time to prepare some conversation topics, just in case the conversation began to go downhill.

 

But as he attempted to sneak past her, it was almost as if she could sense his presence. Lane peered up from her book and locked eyes with him, a familiar smile spreading across her face as she waved.

“Hey! Deaky, right?” She asked, her eyes sparkling up at him.

He nodded quickly. “Y-Yeah… or John. That’s my first name.”

“Well John, it’s lovely to see you again.”   
He gave her a nervous smile. “Same to you.”

“Are you on your way to practice?” She jutted her chin at the amp he was struggling to balance. 

“Just got out, I was actually on my way home.”

“Do you live around here too?” 

“Two blocks north. I have a flat on Church Street.”   
“No way! I’m in a flat on Kingsway about a block and a half from here.” Lane’s eyes lit up. “Good to know I have a friend in the area.”

He swore his face could have never been redder at the fact that she called them  _ friends _ despite their only having one interaction, especially one where he didn’t even bother speaking. Freddie had provided the introduction for them, knowing fully well that John would have likely stammered over his words. “Yeah,” he agreed quickly. “It’s always nice to have friends nearby.”

John stood nervously as he tried to think of something,  _ anything _ to say to keep the conversation going, knowing that he was nearing the wall he hit when it came to communicating with the opposite sex. He was just about to make up some comment about the weather, knowing that the subject (although boring) would at least keep them communicating when she quickly swooped in.

“Do you want to join me?” She asked with a large smile. “I understand if you have somewhere to be, you just look awfully tired of carrying all of that.”

“Oh, I-I wouldn’t want to disturb your reading” he responded. John was lying… he would love to disturb her reading, have her talk his ear off for the next century if she wanted to, he’d love to sit in that chair and never leave.

“No, I insist!” She gestured to the seat across from her, closing her book and setting it face down on the table. “How was rehearsal?”

John felt himself chuckle before he shook his head, quickly setting his things on the ground before sliding into the other chair. “Not great. Roger and Freddie were arguing for most of it so we didn’t get much done.”

“Roger sounds like he always loaded for bear,” she laughed. “But I’m sorry you didn’t get much done. I know that must be frustrating for you guys.”

He shrugged. “We’re kind of in a holding pattern right now anyways so it’s not like we’re wasting precious time… we’re trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Well I’m sure you all will figure it out soon enough,” she sent him a reassuring look that made his stomach twist into a giant knot. “You all have gotten this far.”

He nodded in agreement before letting his gaze fall to her book, a semi-comfortable silence falling between them. “What’re you reading?” 

“Oh,” she giggled, picking it up and facing the cover towards him.  _ Shakespeare’s Sonnets: The Complete Set _ , it read, the book’s binding beginning to fall apart due to it’s obvious use _. _ “I’m a huge Shakespeare nerd,” she admitted, her cheeks reddening slightly.

John almost wanted to laugh at Lane calling herself a nerd, knowing that her statement was far from the truth. Of the two of them, he was the nerd. An electronics-loving, socially awkward nerd… however, he’d never point that out to her. “Makes sense, being an English major and all,” he smiled. “I’d have to say my favorite would be Sonnet 138.”

“‘ _ O! love's best habit is in seeming trust, and age in love, loves not to have years told: therefore I lie with her, and she with me, and in our faults by lies we flattered be _ ’,” she spoke, her eyes twinkling as she recited the sonnet from memory. “I’m a big fan of 138 too.”

John swore he melted then and there, watching her light up at the fact he knew the sonnets well enough to say one by name. However, he would never admit aloud that the reason why he picked 138 was because it was the only one he remembered studying in his English class in year 9.

“Oh, so you’re  _ really  _ a Shakespeare nerd,” he teased with a smirk. 

“I’m telling you that in strict confidence though, you can’t let anyone in on my secret nerdiness.” Lane gave him him a playful grin as she shot him a wink.

“Well your secret is safe with me.”

* * *

They ended up talking for hours, their conversation continuing until the Sun showed it’s last few beams of light. An orange and purple glow had casted itself over the sky, Lane finding herself staring up at it dreamily as John walked her back to her flat. His amp was purposefully tucked under the arm opposite of hers  _ just in case _ their arms drifted a bit too close and brushed the other’s. They arrived at the front of her building almost too quickly, their conversation drawing to an end.

“I’ll see you tonight?” She asked, gazing up at him.

He nodded quickly. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you then.” Lane allowed her hand to drift up and rest on his bicep to give it a gentle squeeze before turning into her building.

John held it in until he knew she was inside and far enough away from the door, but once he was able to, he let out a long, relieved laugh. A laugh that he’d wanted to release ever since she invited him to sit down across from her, ever since she kept him there talking about everything and nothing… he couldn’t believe that had just happened.

* * *

The Laughing Fox was in full swing by the time everyone bothered to arrive meeting for drinks. John was usually the first to arrive, always followed by Brian. Then Freddie and Mary would come in, “ _ fashionably late _ ” in Freddie’s eyes, before Roger would roll in (which was always a minimum of 30 minutes after the agreed meeting time). They were already sipping on their drinks by the time Roger bothered arriving, sauntering into the pub as if he owned the place. He quickly grabbed a drink from the bar before sitting down with his friends, eyeing the empty seat across from him.

“Who’s that for?” 

“Lane,” Mary responded, her eyes glued to the door. “Poor thing, I wonder if she got lost trying to find this place again.”

“She found it once, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Roger huffed as he gripped his pint tightly. He still hadn’t gotten over his interaction with her from the other evening, it completely throwing him off his game. Roger had never faced much rejection in his life before, especially when it came to women. It jilted him, Roger second guessing his actions for the remainder of that week. He had worked out such a flawless formula that hadn’t failed him since it’s creation in his formative years… but it didn’t work, at least not on Lane. 

“Someone’s bitter because they haven’t gotten laid all week,” Brian joked. “He’s finally realizing what it feels like to be a normal guy who isn’t balls deep in someone new every night.”

“Fuck off, I’ve gotten laid this week,” Roger lied. He  _ almost _ went home with girls several nights in a row… he’d just second guess himself at the end. And it was all because of  _ her _ . 

 

That’s when Lane finally showed up, Roger’s eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he saw her. She was adorned in a mini-dress, the neckline featuring a very significant “V” that made Roger’s mouth water, and a pair of platforms that made her legs go on for days. She may have been a bitch to him, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that she was so  _ god damn _ attractive. Her eyes scanned the pub for a moment before she found their table.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in unpacking some boxes and lost track of time.” She smiled widely as she shrugged off the jacket she was wearing, draping it over the free chair.

“Was starting to worry about you, love. Thought you had gotten lost or picked up or something,” Mary joked.

Lane shook her head before laughing. “I promise that I just lost track of time. John actually offered to walk me over here tonight! However, I didn’t want to compel him to have to listen to me talk any longer than he had to. Talked his ear off for hours already.” She looked over at him before giving him a large smile. “I’m going to grab a drink though, be right back!”

 

The group silently watched Lane walk to the bar before they all turned and stared at John with wide eyes.

“You two saw each other?” Brian asked confusedly.

“She lives in my neighborhood. We ran into each other at that little tea shop near me.” He blushed. “I wasn’t going to disturb her… she was reading… but she saw me and invited me to sit down with her and we kind of just talked for a while.”

“You ‘kind of just talked’? How’d you manage that? You can barely speak to women as it is.” Roger scoffed as leaned back in his chair frustratedly.

“Roger!” Mary scolded. “I think that’s really sweet, Deaky. Did you two have fun?” 

He nodded before allowing his gaze to fall into his lap. “Yeah, it was really nice.”

“Good,” she smiled before turning to Roger. “You can be such an ass sometimes, you know that?” 

Roger shrugged before taking a long sip of his pint. “It was a legitimate question.” He shifted in his chair to look at the bar, his jaw clenching. “Not like it matters for either one of us though. Looks like she’s otherwise occupied now.”

The entire table turned to look over at the bar, John’s stomach dropping when he saw what was going on.

 

Lane was stood at the bar, giggling at something the guy next to her said. He was very  _ openly _ flirting with her and she was eating it up, the smirk spread across her lips being a tell-tale that she was dishing it back. Roger growled a bit, the sound rumbling in his chest. He thought it was a bit hypocritical. She’d flirt with this random person, but when it came to him, he was verbally berated? The man pointed to the bar and she nodded her head quickly, the guy waving down the bartender before ordering them both drinks. Two pints and two shots were sat in front of them, Lane wiggling her eyebrows before taking her shot. The man winced as he pulled his shot glass from his lips, immediately taking a long swig from his beer. Lane laughed openly at his twisted reaction, the man only shaking his head at her with a slight smirk. They chatted for a few more moments before she waved goodbye, turning and walking back to their table.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized as she sat down next to Mary, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Roger rolled his eyes before crossing his arms across his chest. “So it’s alright when that bloke tries to pick you up?”

Lane raised her eyebrows in surprise, her lips parting as she studied Roger with a glare. “Not that it’s  _ any of your business _ , but I actually know him from university. He was in his third year when I was a first year and I haven’t seen him in ages.” 

“Well it looked like you were very invested in him chatting you up.”

“So what if I was? Got a free beer and a shot of tequila out of it.” She gave him a smirk. “Sounds like you’re still a bit hurt from when I shot you down.” 

Roger huffed and rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond.

“But if it makes you feel better, love, I would never date him. Gave half my class the clap within the first three months after we first started.”

“Half your class?” Brian laughed.

“My class wasn’t the brightest bunch.” She admitted with a giggle.

“But they had you,” John offered with a large smile. “That’s got to be something.”

Roger rolled his eyes at Deaky’s comment, not in the mood to watch him swoon over Lane. “How smart can you actually be then? All I know is that you graduated Oxford. You claimed to have finished at the top of your class but-” 

“Third,” she responded flatly, cutting him off. “I finished third in my class of five hundred. Does that suit you?”

“It was still an English major though” Roger smirked. “Can’t be that hard to do well when all you have to do is know how to read a book and write your name.”   
“Oh wow, I didn’t realize that was all my major was! Thank you so much for explaining it to me! I’d love for you to read my two hundred page thesis on the challenging of conventional notions of gender roles and sexuality in  _ Macbeth. _ It’d be amazing to get your feedback on it.”

Roger huffed before rolling his eyes, bringing his half-empty pint to his lips.

“You were third in your class?” Mary asked, trying to lower the tension that was created by Roger.

Lane nodded, slightly blushing. “I don’t like bringing it up though, it’s not very humble.”

“Still impressive though! You must’ve lived in the library in uni.”

“I wouldn’t say I  _ lived  _ there… merely frequented it,” Lane laughed. “I’d normally study in my flat where it was quieter. Too many people would hook up in the stacks.”

The table (save Roger) all laughed at her comment. 

“Well, did you join them?” Freddie asked with a smirk. “Sounds like a lovely time.”

“No comment.” Lane brought her pint to her lips as her cheeks reddened, trying to hide the involuntary smirk that spread across her lips.

“You didn’t!” Mary gasped, swatting at the girl’s arm. 

Lane wiggled her eyebrows at her with a chuckle. “I never confirmed or denied the statement.”

“So naughty,” Freddie laughed as he reached across Mary to poke her arm. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

* * *

Several beers later and Lane felt as if she were on top of the world. They had all moved to the pool tables, she and Mary watching a heated match between Roger and Deaky as Brian and Freddie played on another table nearby. A soft smile rested on her lips as she embraced the slight buzz she felt.

“I’m just saying, when Pong is released, I’ll be able to beat you in ping pong both in real life and virtually!” John exclaimed. 

“And I’m just saying, why do you care so much?” Roger rolled his eyes, making a shot and sinking it. 

Deaky’s face fell as he frowned at Roger, leaning against his pool stick. “You’re just mad because I’m better at ping pong than you.”   
“And you’re just mad because you can’t get lai-” 

“I didn’t know you liked ping pong!” Lane interrupted, giving John a warm smile. “I’m absolutely awful at it. You’ll have to teach me.”

Deaky’s cheeks flushed a deep red before he nodded. “I-I can do that.”

Roger rolled his eyes, sinking another shot. “Too bad your impeccable ping pong skills don’t transfer over to pool, I’m about to win the game.” He shifted around the table before knocking the eight-ball into a pocket. “Sucks to be you, Deaky.”

Deaky frowned deeply, glaring at his friend. “You can shove your stick up your arse, Rog.”

“And you can take the stick out of yours, mate.” 

They glared at one another for a few moments, neither one wanting to be the first to break the stare.

“John, let’s go play another round of pool over there,” Lane smiled at him, her hand caressing his bicep. 

He looked down at her and nodded before sending one last glare to Roger, allowing himself to be led by Lane to the next open table. Roger sighed before looking over at Mary, her blue eyes narrowing in on him.

“Why are you being extra bitchy tonight?” She asked quietly, her voice dripping in annoyance.

“I don’t know what the fuck she sees in him. Why is she flirting with him? A girl like that isn’t the type of girl who ends up with guys like Deaky.” He muttered, chugging the rest of his pint. 

“She isn’t flirting, Roger. It’s called being a nice human… you should try it for once.”

Roger carded a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I’m going to go take some shots.”

* * *

By the time Roger bothered removing himself from his barstool to return to the pool tables, he was staggering, barely able to keep himself upright. He didn’t know why he was so torn up over Lane. Sure the rejection was hard, but seeing her be friendly to everyone but him was even harder. He took a sip from the forgotten pint he ordered in addition to nine shots of tequila, spilling a bit down the front of himself as he fumbled over his feet. He collapsed himself in a chair next to the pool table Deaky and Lane were at, the game having been forgotten due to a passionate conversation regarding movies.

“How have you not seen ‘A Clockwork Orange’?” John asked, completely astounded.

“It seemed creepy!” She admitted with a giggle. “I’m easily scared.”

“It’s not that bad,” John chuckled. “It’s more weird than scary.”

“Still,” she shook her head quickly. “I don’t think it’d be for me.”   
“S-So did you just forget the game?” Roger slurred. “Looks like you lot didn’t even try.”

“I’m apparently extremely bad at pool so we stopped,” Lane explained before studying Roger.

“Are you okay?”

Roger nodded before taking another sip of his beer, “I’m fine, don’t know what you mean.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Deaky asked, walking over so he could stare at Roger directly.

“A few…  What’s it to you?” Roger glared at the younger boy.

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off.” John grabbed the pint from his hand, quickly setting it aside.

“You can’t just fucking do that!” Roger whined as he attempted to stand up in order to be at eye level with Deaky. “I have every right to fight you right now.” 

“Oh yeah? You and what army?” Deaky held Roger’s shoulders steady in an attempt to keep him upright. “You need to go to bed.”   
Roger paused for a moment before fishing his keys from his pocket, waving them in John’s face. “I’ll just go home then.”

“Oh you’re not going home alone,” Deaky laughed.

“Who said I’d be going home alone,” he smirked as he shot Lane a wink.

“I did. You’re staying with me.” With that, John took the keys from him and shoved them in his pocket.

* * *

 

Getting Roger out of the bar was worse than managing a toddler, seeing as when he was this drunk, he was an infant with anger management issues. John ended up having to half hold him up as they walked out of the bar, Lane walking at his side. He had offered to walk her home earlier in the night seeing as he didn’t want her walking the unfamiliar streets of London when she too was a bit drunk, but now they had a plus one joining them. 

“Bloody hell, why’d you walk here tonight?” Roger complained as John led them down the sidewalk. “Feels like it’s been fucking ages.”

“Lane only lives a block more from here and then you have less than a block until you’re at mine. I believe in you,” John sighed. He knew it was going to be a long night once he dropped Lane off. Roger was absolutely intolerable when he was in this state. He was prone to puking everywhere and breaking everything he touched, always leaving a huge mess that he’d never clean up himself the next morning. 

“Too fucking far,” Roger mumbled under his breath. “Not like you’re getting laid tonight.”   
John’s face paled as he whipped his head to make sure Lane hadn’t heard what Roger just said. She had thankfully been zoned out, humming along to some invisible tune as she gazed up at the sky. “I’m being a decent person and walking a friend of mine home. You should try being nice and not expecting anything in return for once.”

“That’s unlikely,” Roger chuckled before hiccuping. “Nice guys never finish first.”

John rolled his eyes before getting them both to the front door of Lane’s apartment building.

“Thank you so much for walking me back.” She smiled sleepily up at John, her eyes blinking slowly.

“Of course, wanted to make sure you got home safe and sound.” John reassured her. “Are you sure you don’t want help getting upstairs?”

“I’ve got it from here,” she promised. “Goodnight, John.” Lane reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. 

John swore his heart was beating out of his chest as he wrapped his one free arm around her waist, wishing that he didn’t have to be holding Roger up at that point. She pulled away almost too soon, Deaky fighting a pout that threatened to appear on his face.

“I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.”

John watched as she entered her building, an involuntary sigh passing his lips. He almost forgot that Roger was there for a moment as he replayed the entire night’s events in his head. That was, until Roger puked onto his shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little transition chapter for you all... please let me know what you think!! xoxo

It was only 8 P.M., but Lane had already fallen asleep on her couch with a half finished cup of tea on the table beside her. The weather outside had been horrid: thunderstorms shaking her building ever since she woke up that morning. She gave herself the day to finally finish unpacking the rest of her moving boxes, having been in her apartment for more than three weeks at that point, it was finally time to complete that task. She had fallen asleep to an episode of Top of the Pops, sleep overcoming her 5 minutes into The Carpenters’ set. She probably would’ve been asleep until morning if her phone hadn’t woken her up, the ringing causing her to shoot up, her eyes blinking in surprise. She yawned quietly before walking into her kitchen.

“Hello?” She mumbled, sleep still in her voice as she rubbed the heel of her free hand against her eyes.

“Lane, love! What’re you up to this evening?” Mary asked, her voice too chipper for the state Lane was in.

“I was asleep on my couch until you called,” she chuckled tiredly. “But nothing of note. What’s going on?” Lane fought back another yawn as she leaned herself against the kitchen counter.

“The boys are recording an album tonight! Thought you might like to tag along!”

“An album? How the hell did they get that kind of money?”

“They sold Roger’s van to make it happen.” Mary laughed. “Went to a lot this afternoon and had it handled.”

“Roger must be ticked then,” Lane chuckled as she carded a hand through her hair. “Not sure if my presence will be much of a help if he’s already in a bad mood.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine! Plus, when have you ever cared about putting Rog in his place? Please come, I don’t want to be the only girl there.” Lane could hear Mary’s pout from the other end of the line. “If you come along, I’ll buy you tons of drinks the next time we go out.”

“That’s not necessary,” Lane giggled. “I guess I’ll tag along. No promises on me being awake for very long.”   
“Great! I’ll come pick you up in 20.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Mary and Lane walked into the studio, the boys were already deep in discussion with a recording engineer. He didn’t look thrilled to be working with some student band who appeared out of nowhere because they saw an ad in the local newspaper, but they paid him upfront and in cash so he didn’t have much room to complain. The girls settled themselves quietly on the couch at the back of the room, Deaky sending Lane a quick smile and wave before turning back to the conversation. Roger wanted to gag, seeing the way John looked at Lane and seeing the smile she gave him in response. He honestly didn’t understand it. John was so  _ awkward _ , especially when he was around Lane… why did she seem to be so into him?

 

Deaky had almost evolved into a new person when he was around Lane. While he’d still get blushy and bashful at times, he wasn’t stammering over his words as much. They honestly couldn’t get him to shut up if they wanted to. He’d talk to Lane for hours, their conversation never ceasing as he’d attempt to make her laugh for the tenth time in a row.  He loved her laugh, thought it was one of the cutest things about her. The way her nose would scrunch itself as her lips would pull into a large smile… it was probably his favorite look on her. He found himself falling deeper and deeper into a trance when he was with her. Hours became seconds and he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his lips when she was around. Lane had a presence about her that he couldn’t explain.

 

Their meeting had come to a close and Roger slipped into the recording booth, ready to record the drumline for “Doing All Right.” He felt his chest tighten when he looked through the glass at everyone else. Lane’s arms were wrapped tightly around John, large grins spread across both of their faces as John talked directly into her ear, telling her  _ something _ that he’d rather keep from the rest of the group. He saw her laugh, her head being thrown backward as her cascade of blonde curls followed. She shook her head at John, removing her arms from where they were wrapped around his neck only to gently push against his chest as she scolded him. He merely only chuckled in response and nudged her back, pushing one of her shoulders back causing her to fumble backwards. Roger sat at the drum kit and huffed, twirling his sticks between his fingers frustratedly. 

“You ready to go, Rog?” Brian asked, pressing down on the intercom button. Roger tore his eyes away from the two of them and shifted his gaze to his friend. In all honesty, he wasn’t ready to play. He’d love to go throw his fist against John’s jaw first and get him the hell away from Lane. However, he simply gritted his teeth and nodded. At least he could channel his anger into his playing.

 

 

* * *

 

“Well this is a lovely surprise,” John smiled as he walked towards Lane, glad that their meeting was over so he could greet her. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

Lane stood up and embraced him warmly, standing on her toes so she could wrap her arms around his neck. “Mary invited me to come along!”

“She wasn’t going to come originally! Told me she was ‘too tired.’ I apparently woke her up when I called at 8,” Mary called from the couch, a laugh falling from her lips.

“You were already in bed when she called? You’re turning into an old maid,” John teased, his chin moving down so he could speak directly into her ear. “What’s next, shaking your fist at young people in the street?”

Lane gasped as she pulled herself away from him, shoving his chest. “Don’t you dare start with me! I am not that old! I just had a big day is all.”

John laughed at her horrified expression and pushed her shoulder, making her stumble on her feet a bit. “I was only asking.” He put his hands up in mock defense.

Lane rolled her eyes before going and returning to her spot on the couch next to Mary, crossing her arms with a huff. “I ought to give you the silent treatment if you’re going to be that big of a prick.” Her eyes narrowed in on John’s, her lips pulling into a small pout.

John paled, his mouth falling agape. “I was only teasing! I’m sorry, it won’t happen ag-”

“Love, I’m only kidding,” Lane laughed, sending him a reassuring smile. “Sarcasm suits you, ya’know. I didn’t know you were this witty.”

John turned away from her with a small smile, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He both hated and loved that she had this effect on him. “Just trying to return the favor,  _ love _ .”

 

* * *

 

They had been there for  _ hours _ , the clock on the wall reading half three in the morning. The boys were exhausted, trying to get everything perfect in the small amount of time they had in the studio. It wasn’t ideal, trying to cram everything into a twelve-hour period, but it wasn’t like they could afford another session. They needed to get everything done that night. They had to push through. 

 

John had finally emerged from the booth, having just recorded the bass line for “Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll” for the fourth time, his eyes heavy and hooded as he attempted to blink back the sleep that was trying to overcome him. Only four and a half hours more… only four and a half hours until he could climb into bed and sleep for the entire day… only four and a half hours until he was out of that stuffy studio. He needed a cigarette, something to give him some sort of a pick-me-up that wasn’t a fifth cup of the burnt coffee from the dispenser in the corner. He slumped himself over to the coat rack, sifting through the jackets so he could go excuse himself for five minutes. However, as he searched through them, he couldn’t find his. 

“Bri,” he yawned, rubbing his fists against his eyes. “Have you seen my jacket?”   
Brian wordlessly pointed over to the arm chair in the corner, the coat draped over Lane in a makeshift blanket as she slept. She was knocked out, her legs swung over the arm of the chair with her cheek pressed to the back of it. Her hair fell over her face in a curtain as she held the jacket over her tightly. John’s chest warmed for a moment, seeing her so at peace as she quietly slept in the corner.

“Told her it was yours when she grabbed it,” Brian explained, breaking John’s focus. “She insisted on grabbing it though… fell asleep right after you went into the booth.”

John smiled slightly as he walked towards her, sitting on the arm of the chair closest to her head. He gently pushed the hair from her face, his fingertips barely grazing her forehead as he smiled down at her. He was so used to seeing the other side of Lane, the spitfire whose mouth was always running, that seeing this side… the  _ softer  _ side, made his heart melt. She hummed quietly, leaning into his touch as her eyes blinked. She met his gaze with a small, sleepy smile, her eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion set in them.

“Sorry for stealing your jacket,” she apologized quietly, attempting to hold back a yawn (but failing). “I can give it back to you if yo-” 

John stopped her as she shifted the coat off of her. “No, keep it. I don’t need it right now,” he reassured her, moving it so it was covering her shoulders again.

Lane sleepily nodded before shutting her eyes again, curling back up before falling back to sleep.

John stood back up and crossed to Freddie, his shoulder being used as Mary’s pillow for the last twenty minutes.

“Fred, mind if I steal a cigarette from you?”   
“Be my guest,” he smiled, shifting to get to his pack. “Sorry about yours being hijacked.”

John shrugged. “I don’t mind one bit.”

That statement was 100% true… even though John shivered his ass off while he smoked his cigarette outside, he was so happy knowing that Lane was curled up under it.

 

* * *

 

 

If you took one look at the boys when they all emerged from the studio that next morning, you would’ve thought they were all coming off a week-long bender, not getting off from pulling an all-nighter for work. They were nearly shaking with exhaustion, all of them fueled on black coffee and cigarettes alone. Everyone look disheveled as they stood on the sidewalk… well, everyone but Mary and Lane. The two girls had slept for at least a few hours, waking up when they were in their last two hours of recording for the night. However, they really didn’t look much better than everyone else.

“Well, I think we just recorded an album,” Brian chuckled before yawning. “Can’t believe we did it.”

“And you lot said it couldn’t be done!” Freddie teased, a wide smirk spread across his lips. “All thanks to my idea.”

“All thanks to my van,” Roger corrected Freddie with a large frown. “If we hadn’t sold my van we wouldn’t have had the money.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a frustrated huff.

John rolled his eyes as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ah yes, the most extreme of sacrifices. Giving up the van that you’d fuck your groupies in.” 

“You’re just jealous that I-” Roger started towards the younger boy before Brian’s hands gripped onto his shoulders.

“Let’s not do this right now. We’re all exhausted, let’s all just head home and go to bed. Yeah?”

Everyone nodded in response as they muttered their goodbyes, ready to head home. 

“Lane, want to walk together?” John asked her quietly with a small smile.

She nodded tiredly before muttering a quiet “yes.” She rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes before sending a sleepy wave to Mary as she and Freddie began to walk back to their shared flat.

A silence fell over the remainder of the group before Brian muttered a goodbye, leaving Roger, Lane, and John alone in front of the studio.

“John, I’m crashing with you.” Roger announced casually, sending a playful smirk to the other boy despite his visual exhaustion.

“Why’s that?” He asked flatly, too tired to deal with his bullshit in that moment.

“Your flat’s closer than mine. Won’t make it to my own before crashing.”

“It’s faster to get to yours if you take the tube,” John weakly protested. 

“You want me to fall asleep on the tube then?”

John sighed as he tried to scrape his mind for another response to try and prevent Roger from coming over. However, he nodded in agreement with a large sigh. “Fine. C’mon then.”

 

The three of them walked along in an exhausted line, everyone too tired to say much of anything (except Roger who whined and complained every few minutes or so about having to walk so far). By the time they reached Lane’s apartment, the most she could give both boys was a small wave and a smile, muttering a sleepy “thanks for walking with me” before disappearing inside her building. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure she could’ve found her building on her own at his time of day,” Roger commented as he and John began to walk the additional half block to his place. “Not sure why you insist on escorting her everywhere.”

John sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you this before, it’s because I’m a nice person. Maybe if you were nice to her, Lane wouldn’t have to yell at you every time she sees you. You’re a complete prick around her.”

“Nice person? More like you’re in love with her,” Roger chuckled dryly. “And I don’t need to be a nice person to get what I want from her.”

“I’m not in love with her!” Deaky snapped, whipping his head around to look at him. “And what do you want from her then? Not like she’s running to do you any favors right now.”

“Oh John,” Roger smiled. “This is a teaching moment for you then. When two people hate each other with so much  _ passion _ , that passion has got to be let out at some point. She’s going to eventually crack and we’re going to end up in bed together. I give it a month tops.”

John honestly thought he was hallucinating when he heard what had come out of Roger’s mouth. There was no way that would actually happen, right? Sure, Lane hated him… but that wouldn’t mean that she would actually hate him  _ that _ much.

“A good ol’ hate fuck, you know?” Roger added with a laugh.

“S-She wouldn’t,” John protested. “She’s not like that.”   
“Ah, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it then.” Roger smirked before winking.

And by God, John hoped he was right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this chapter took ages to get done. I promise that I'll have a much better turn around in the future. Love you all!!!! xoxoxoxoxo
> 
> As always, feel free to check out my Tumblr: @rogers-sweatbands

John couldn’t believe what he had heard after Freddie hung up the phone, genuinely thinking he was fucking around at the beginning of his call. There was no way a label liked their demo, and there was  _ absolutely _ no way it was EMI records at that. Having EMI pick them up would have been well past a miracle. However, they were interested in Queen and once the paperwork was signed that Thursday, it would be official. John never thought that Queen would have been much more than a side hobby when he first joined. It was a fun outlet to escape the other stresses that life held and it gave him an excuse to continue playing the bass. However, here he was about to be signed to a label of the greats, a label that represented Elton John for Christ’s sake. To say he was floored would be an understatement.

 

The boys decided that a celebration that night was in order. Although their marking of the occasion was a bit premature since the paperwork hadn’t gone through yet, they couldn’t have cared less. Getting signed was a huge deal and they needed to celebrate it. Walking into The Laughing Fox that night felt indescribably  _ different _ . It had been the first place they had all played together as Queen, it was only fitting that they go there to raise a glass to whatever their future had in store… a way for them to remember their humble beginnings. In the matter of an hour, several pints had been slammed down by each of the members, Mary taking photographs of their celebration with a large smile. In that moment, the world seemed absolutely perfect…. they never wanted that feeling to end. 

 

Although six chairs were packed around the small table, only five of them were filled. They didn’t seem to notice at first, all of them focused on how exciting the news of the day was. However, as they all came down from their exhilarated highs, the empty sixth seat began to weigh more and more on the group. While Lane was one to run a few minutes behind on occasion, she had never been the type to be more than fifteen minutes late… but for a celebration like this, she absolutely would have been on time.

 

“Where’s Lane?” Brian finally asked, eyeing the empty stool across from him quizzically.

“She had other plans that she couldn’t get out of. She’s coming by afterwards!” Mary responded with a large grin.

“What could she possibly be doing other than being a complete nuisance to us? Not like she has other friends.” Roger snorted.

“Believe it or not, Roger, unlike you, Lane actually does have friends outside of us!” She glared at him with a frown. “And she’s actually on a date with a guy from work. Seems like a decent enough guy. Not that you know what that’s like.”

Roger and John’s faces fell slightly, however, neither one of them announced their disheartenment. They locked eyes momentarily, frowns spreading across both of their lips. 

“Is it that guy George?” Brian asked, taking a long sip from his beer. “Met him when I went by the bookstore she works at. He seemed… alright.”

“Yeah! He asked her out last night to go for dinner or something… said it was really out of nowhere too. Didn’t really seem like her type but she didn’t want to turn him down since he’s been so nice to her.” 

“Yeah, don’t really see her with a highbrow guy like that,” Brian chuckled. “He looks like he’d be too high maintenance for her.”

“What’s he look like?” Roger asked cooly, trying to ignore the anger that was bubbling in his chest.

“Very preppy. Gave off a lot of ‘I-was-born-into-a-fuck-ton-of-money’ vibes.” Brian spoke, trying to recall anything else he could remember about her date. “Pretty sure she said he went to Cambridge for archaeology and… I think English?” 

Mary nodded. “Yeah, he definitely is smart. That’s her type though… someone who’s just as witty.”   
“I think you mean bitchy,” Roger retorted with a smirk.

“She should be coming after they finish up dinner. Maybe if we’re lucky, you’ll get to meet George. He can teach you a thing or two about manners.” Mary’s eyes narrowed in on Roger.

 

* * *

 

By the time Lane and George reached the exterior of The Laughing Fox, she was quite ready to bid the man goodnight. To say the date was awful would be a drastic understatement. From the moment George had picked her up that evening, he hadn’t stopped making snarky comments. Whether they be about her appearance (“I’m glad you didn’t wear those awful clogs and went with something more  _ attractive _ ”), the wait staff at the restaurant (he had told her that she didn’t “need to thank the help” after she had thanked their waitress for bringing their food), and by insulting her alma mater by saying his degree was more powerful (“but that also just comes with being a man”). While she wasn’t expecting their date to be one for the books, she had never thought that George would be this…  _ awful _ …  _ insipid _ …  _ repulsive _ . He had been decent enough to her at work that she thought he’d at least possess some basic manners, however, he had completely proved her wrong.

 

“Well… this is me,” Lane spoke awkwardly, maintaining her distance from George.

“Oh, I can walk you all the way back to your apartment.”

“I know, I have plans to meet my friends here though… no need to walk me back if I’m just heading out immediately afterwards,” she chuckled slightly, trying to ease the tension.

“You aren’t taking me home with you?” George asked genuinely. “I did buy you dinner after all.”   
Lane paused for a moment, staring at the man with narrowed eyes. “Just because you bought me dinner doesn’t mean you have an automatic invitation into my apartment.”

“It was an extremely nice dinner. A woman is supposed to thank her date for something like that.”

“I did, George. I thanked you several times this evening. I’m not a prostitute, buying me dinner doesn’t mean you’re going to receive any sexual favors in return.”

“Well, you certainly dress like one,” his jaw clenched as his eyes raked down her body. “It’s not polite to lead a man on.”   
“I never lead you on. You asked me to dinner and I agreed… that was all.”

He took a step towards her, closing the distance between them as her back was pressed to the cold brick outside the pub. “You lead me on, you little minx. Now give me what I deserve.” 

 

George held her wrists tightly, forcing his lips onto hers as she wriggled to get out from under him. The brick was digging into her back as she tried to find a way out, wanting to disappear into the crowded pub to get away from him. Lane wanted him gone and now, her head swimming as she tried to figure out a way to get him to  _ leave her alone _ . She wound her eyes shut as she lifted her knee quickly, driving it directly into his crotch.  His mouth detached from hers as he released her wrists and fell to his knees on the sidewalk.

 

“You  _ bitch _ ,” he sneered, his hands moving to grip the front of his trousers. “You’re going to regret that.” 

 

Lane stared at him for a moment, her eyes widening before she ran into the pub, praying that he wouldn’t follow her once he was able to compose himself. She could feel the tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she descended the stairs into the dimly-lit space, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she made her way to the bathroom. She needed to pull herself together before joining the rest of the group, not wanting to be the one to ruin their special night. Getting signed was a huge deal for the boys, she didn’t want that to be taken away from them. As she stood in front of the mirror, Lane tightly gripped the sides of the sink, taking her frazzled appearance in. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths before plastering on a smile, making her way to the bar so she could grab a pint before settling down at their table. 

 

She slid into her seat between John and Mary quietly, not wanting to disturb the heated debate taking place regarding a rugby match that was playing in the corner. 

 

“How was your date?!” Mary whispered excitedly, her hand squeezing Lane’s. “Tell me  _ everything _ .”

Lane shrugged, pretending to be invested in the conversation going on around her. “It was alright.”

“Only alright? Didn’t he take you to that French café you’ve been dying to go to?”

She nodded in response, taking her lip between her teeth as she picked at her nails. “Yeah. It was nice, I guess.” Her voice quivered slightly as she tried to cough back a dry sob. She could feel everyone’s eyes fall onto her as she shifted nervously in her seat.

“Did something happen?” Mary probed gently, her tone growing with worry.

“He was a total cunt. No surprise there,” Lane forced a small laugh, trying to play off the evening’s events as a  _ normal  _ shitty date. “No need to dwell on it though, this is supposed to be a fun night!” She smiled up at them before taking a small sip from her pint, her gaze falling to the scratched tabletop.

The table was silent as they watched her for a few moments, Lane fidgeting in her seat as their gazes burned through her. She could feel her eyes welling up again, though she desperately tried to blink her tears back. 

“Lane,” Brian spoke, her gaze not bothering to lift up as she muttered a small hum in response. “What happened?”

“He was just a shitty guy… again, no need to dwell on it.”

“You’re crying, love, there is a need to ‘dwell on it’.”

Lane’s hands lifted to rub at her eyes as she wished to be anywhere but The Laughing Fox in that moment. 

“Did he say something?” Mary asked, taking her friend’s hand in hers once again. 

Lane paused for a moment before a sad chuckle passed her lips. “I mean…  _ yeah _ … but words don’t mean anything to me. That wouldn’t’ve affected me at all.”

“Then why are you crying, Lane?”

Lane shook her head, removing her hand from Mary’s before shifting to stand. “I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’m… you guys have fun.”

“He touched you, didn’t he?” Roger spoke through gritted teeth.

Lane felt herself stop in midair, her eyes widening as she looked at him.

“He did. That fucking bastard, I’m going to fucking kill him.” Roger pushed himself back from their table, his fists clenched at his sides.

“R-Rog, that’s really not necessary-”

“Damn right, it’s fucking necessary. He isn’t going to know what hit him.”

“Roger, it really isn’t-”

“Lane, I swear to  _ God _ , he doesn’t get to do that and get away with it-”

“It isn’t necessary because I already handled it!” Lane yelled, her chest heaving as she stared at the blonde. The group’s eyes widened as they looked at her, their jaws dropping. “I… I handled it myself.”

“You… what?” Roger’s eyebrows cinched as he stared at her surprisedly.

“He… well… when he-when he pressed me up against the wall outside… I… uhm, I just sort of drove my knee up into his crotch and ran in. I handled it myself.”

“That’s spectacular!” Freddie praised, his jaw still dropped from her previous announcement.

“Lane, that’s unbelievable. I can’t believe you did that!” Brian added on, lifting his glass in her direction.

Lane blushed as she settled herself back into her seat, eyeing Roger cautiously as a low grumble came from his chest. 

“Bastard deserves to rot in Hell,” he mumbled, tossing back the rest of his pint as he climbed back onto his stool.

“Agreed,” John spoke, anger still bubbling in this chest. However, he did his best to mask it, not wanting her to see that side of him. 

She sent John a soft smile, her eyes twinkling up at him. He felt his cheeks redden under her gaze, his lips mimicking hers as he bumped his elbow against her upper arm gently. Lane rolled her eyes before laughing, elbowing him in return before challenging Brian to a round of darts. 

 

* * *

 

By the time last call was announced at a quarter to three, the entire group had begun to feel the significant effects of their evening binge. Mary was half collapsed onto Freddie, Roger had been lying face-down on the table for nearly thirty minutes, and Lane was a lost cause. Her shaken demeanor had developed into a giggly,  _ touchy _ persona over the course of a few hours (and a lot of tequila). Her head rested on John’s shoulder as she attempted to gather her thoughts on evolution, her words slurring together as she discussed the topic with Brian. 

“‘M just saying, the fact that creation was taught in schools at one point is a fucking  _ joke _ !” She cried out.

“Well some schools actually do still teach creation,” Brian corrected her, his eyes beginning to blink more and more slowly as time wore on. “But you’re right… it’s fucking bullshit.”   
“What do you think, John?” She hummed, shifting her head so she could look up at him. 

John chuckled as he looked down at her, her pupils blown from the combination of alcohol and exhaustion that wracked her system. She’d dozed off a few times on his shoulder, however, every time he suggested he walk her back to her flat she slapped his chest.  _ “Not sleepy,” _ she swore, the phrase normally punctuated by a small yawn. _ “Only reason why I’m laying here is because my head’s so heavy.”  _ John wrapped one of her curls around his index finger, allowing himself to grow more and more distracted by her presence.

“John?” She asked again, her eyebrows meeting in the middle as she studied him confusedly.

He hummed, eyes meeting hers once again before he shook his head. “No, you’re right, love. It’s a total joke.”

Lane smiled widely before shifting her gaze back to Brian, listening to him continue his rant. 

 

The bell in the corner of the bartop was rung for the second and final time, the entire group slipping off their stools as they made their way out of the pub. Lane was leaning against John’s chest, his hand supporting her as she stumbled her way up the stairs to greet the cold, early morning air. 

“Don’t need help,” she reassured him, however, she made no effort to move his hand from her waist. “‘M not that drunk.”

“I know,” he smirked, trying to fight back a laugh as she staggered slightly. “Just holding you close to… to keep myself warm ’tsal.” 

Lane giggled as she looked up at him, shivering slightly in his embrace. “Getting chilly now… I don’t like the cold,” she pouted, curling more into his side. 

John shrugged his jacket off, draping it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her again, fearing she’d topple over any moment.

“You’re going to get cold now-” Lane started, shifting to take the coat off.

“No, Lane. I’ll be fine. Promise.”   
“Pinky promise?”

 

Lane held her pinky in his direction, her stone-faced complexion proving to John that she was, in fact, being serious. He chuckled quietly before shaking his head, lifting his free hand to intertwine his pinky with hers. 

 

“Pinky promise,” he whispered, leaning down slightly so he could make direct eye contact with her.

She gave him another large smile before releasing a small giggle, John’s grin only widening at her expression. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, both of them grinning like madmen. However, the quietness was quickly interrupted by Roger complaining about having the spins, perching himself on John’s other shoulder. 

“John, ‘M afraid I can’t see very straight,” he laughed, rocking back and forth between both of his feet.

“It was probably the ten or so shots you had after you had all those pints, Rog,” Deaky commented, trying to shrug the blonde boy off his shoulder. However, his grip tightened even more as he attempted to steady himself. “Hey Brian, do you mind… handling Roger tonight? Lane’s completely knackered and I should probably be getting her home.”   
Brian studied the three of them tiredly before nodding. “Yeah, c’mon then.”

The tall brunette peeled Roger off of John, muttering a short goodbye before disappearing down the sidewalk. 

“Ready?” John asked, waiting for Lane to nod slightly. He led her down the sidewalk, the echo of her heels against the concrete punctuating the early morning air. Lane giggled to herself once again, clasping a hand over her mouth excitedly before looking up at John. 

“What is it?”

“ _ Knackered _ ,” she imitated, butchering his accent severely. “It’s a funny word.”

“Of all the words in the English language, that’s the one that gets you?” He chuckled, shaking his head at her.

“ _ Technically _ it’s slang,” she corrected him with a pout. “No need to make fun of me, John.”   
“Not making fun of you, promise,” he hummed, giving her a reassuring smile. “Thought it was…” John paused momentarily as he tried to find the word for it.  _ Cute _ .  _ Adorable _ .  _ Perfect in every way _ . “Thought it was funny.”

“I am funny,” she agreed. “I tell a good joke.”

“Do you?” John teased, holding back the smile that was threatening to make its way onto his lips.

“What do you call a magic dog?” She stopped in her tracks, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared at him with a sloppy grin.

“What?” 

“A LAB-ricadabra!” She giggled, throwing her head back happily.

John shook his head at her, his eyes rolling as he wrapped himself back around her to continue their journey.

“It was good right?!”

“Of course, love.  _ Very funny _ .”

 

* * *

 

It took nearly double the time it normally would have to get Lane back to her apartment, John having to stop every few minutes or so as Lane pointed out random things on their walk.  _ “Look at those flowers growing over there! Can we go smell them?” _ she’d asked him, batting her lashes until he agreed. And although they stopped to smell  _ every _ flower on their walk home, there was no place he’d rather be.

John paused on the front stoop of her apartment, watching her quietly as she gazed at the stars in sheer wonderment. “Look! There’s Orion!” She pointed excitedly, shaking John’s arm until he looked up as well. “And right over there is Sagittarius…  _ that one’s mine _ .” He looked down momentarily to see her squint up at the sky, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she desperately studied the twinkling lights above her. “And there! There’s Leo… that one’s yours.”

Her gaze fell down to meet his again, giving him a soft smile as John desperately tried to mask his reddening cheeks. 

“You know my birthday?” He asked softly, scratching at his chin as he tried to hold back a giddy laugh.

“Yeah, you told me it a few weeks ago. Guess I just remembered it or something…” Lane’s cheeks flushed as well, embarrassed that she had remembered such a trivial detail about him and blurted it aloud.

John studied her for a moment, his chest warming as he watched her look back up at the stars, his jacket wrapped around her tightly. She looked absolutely perfect.

“John,” she called, pulling him from his trance. He hummed quietly, carding a hand through his hair as he shook his head.

“Would you mind walking me to my door? I’m still a bit… shaken up from before.” Lane wrapped her arms around herself as she bit her lip.

His face fell as he remembered the earlier events of the evening, feeling the anger bubbling inside him once again. “Yeah, of course.” 

Lane teetered up the few stairs to enter her building, the two of them remaining silent as they walked up to the third floor. She paused in front of her front door, biting her lip once again. “Would you like to come in?” She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It was late,  _ really _ late, but Lane couldn’t stand the idea of being alone in her apartment. Especially with the threat of  _ “You’re going to regret that” _ ringing in her ears. 

And although it was nearing four in the morning and John was about to fall asleep, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Her face lit up before she turned to unlock her door, allowing him inside her flat before flipping the light on in the front hallway.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she smiled as she led him deeper into the apartment, laying his jacket across the arm chair in her living room. “‘M sorry it’s a bit of a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”   
John waved off her comment as he walked around the space, eyes falling onto an open easel and half painted canvas in the corner. “I didn’t know you painted.”   
Lane shrugged before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a hobby of mine, I guess… I painted a lot of the art I have hung up.” She gestured to a framed canvas hanging next to her overflowing bookshelf, a field of multi-colored wildflowers covering the majority of the piece. 

“Beautiful,” he commented, sending her a large smile before walking over to examine it. 

“That’s a field from back home… I’d go read there a lot in high school.”

He hummed as he studied the painting further, head tilting in curiosity. “Why’d you sign it P.E.W.?”

“Oh, that’s because Lane is a nickname… my name is actually Penelope Elaine,” she laughed, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Started going by Lane when I was thirteen or so. I never really liked my name… thought Penelope was too much and Elaine was too stuffy. I decided Lane suited me best.”   
“I like your name,” he smiled warmly. “Penelope is cute.”

Lane blushed and rolled her eyes. “Always reminded me of  _ The Odyssey _ and how much I hate Homer.”

“So you hate it because of its literary connotations?” John chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “That’s a very  _ you _ thing to say.”

“I was never a big fan of the Greeks,” she teased with a smirk.

“From what I remember, she was quite intelligent though.”

“She was. However, she was hopelessly in love with  Odysseus and waited twenty years for him when he was thought to be dead! He was her achilles heel.” 

“So you’re saying that her being a hopeless romantic is a bad thing? That it was her ultimate downfall?” John cocked his head as he looked at her, loving how seriously Lane took the subject.   
“I’m saying that love made her blind. One hundred and eight suiters attempted to take her hand in that time! She delayed all of them just because she thought there was a slim chance her husband was still alive. I’m not saying that her fidelity was wrong in any sense, I just don’t know how realistic that would be if it were applied to real life.” 

“So you’re saying that you’ve never personally been married to a king who leaves to fight in a war for twenty years? Is that not  _ relatable _ enough for you?” He teased, Lane’s cheeks further reddening.

“Shut up!”

 

* * *

 

 

John found himself propped up on Lane’s couch, sitting semi-awkwardly while she took a shower. She had muttered something about wanting to wash George’s touch off of her but didn’t want to leave it until she was alone in her apartment. He knew she was scared, although she never would have admitted that to him. She was one to always keep a strong front put up, one who would always attempt to keep a stiff upper lip even when she didn’t have to. John didn’t want to push her to talk about it, knowing that would get him nowhere. He told her to go shower and that he’d be there when she got out. 

 

However, in the time she was in the shower, John was trying to avoid letting his mind wander to what she was doing in there. He had always been able to withhold his more  _ private _ feelings of Lane until he got home, but up until that point, he had never been with her in any sort of an intimate setting  _ (if you could call it that) _ . He did his best to distract himself by looking around the room, trying to figure out something that could occupy his thoughts (and would help him get rid of the tent that was beginning to build within his trousers). He stood and made his way over to her bookshelf, admiring how many books she had managed to cram into its wobbly structure. All of the spines of the novels were well worn, many of them cracked slightly from their obvious love over the years. He felt his lips pulling into an involuntary smile when his eyes reached  _ Shakespeare’s Sonnets: The Complete Set _ , forever thankful for the day he had ran into her at the tea shop. Although John would have never told Lane this, he had gone and picked up a copy for himself, dog-earring Sonnet 138 when he reached it. He had found a new love and appreciation for William Shakespeare in the month he had known her, finding himself voraciously reading almost everything the man had published so he could always have something to discuss with her (not that she would ever allow a lull in their conversation). He loved how passionate and opinionated she was about almost any subject, enjoying being able to sit there and listen while she rambled about anything under the Sun. She was truly a sight to see and he was more than happy to sit back and observe.

 

His gaze moved up to the higher shelves, the books being replaced with dozens of photo albums that had been carefully curated from her early teen years to the present, each carefully marked with the year on its spine. John plucked the most recent album off the shelf before returning to the couch, settling the book onto his lap before opening it. It opened with images of Lane and others laughing and covered in confetti,  _ “New Year’s Madness in Berlin” _ written carefully in cursive along the bottom of the image. John thought she looked absolutely stunning, not that she didn’t always look that way. He could hear her laughter distinctly as he looked at the photos, the ringing sound making him smile before he began to flip through the album. He loved how detail oriented she was, always marking the date with her caption on the bottom of each image, sometimes a pressed flower or ticket stub being placed beside them. His heart swelled when he reached her graduation pictures, seeing how happy and relieved she looked in her cap and gown. When he turned the page, he was surprised to see a small letter placed next to a picture of her holding a bouquet of delphiniums, tears very prevalent in her eyes as she stared down at the arrangement with a small smile. 

 

_ Lane, _

_ We know how hard today must be for you, but know that you are never walking alone (whether it be today or any day). We are always here, lifting you up and cheering you on. You’re going to do great and amazing things, P.E.W.. _

 

_ “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” _

_ -The Tempest, Willy Shakes _

 

_ All our love, _

_ Harper, Freya, Leo, and Rex _

 

She had penned a short caption at the bottom of the page, a flower pressed beside the tear stained writing.  _ “They remembered how much delphiniums meant to me. Today was hard, but these made it better… it’s hard to remember the lighter side of life, especially on days like today. _ ” John couldn’t think of a reason why it would have been a hard day for her. He remembered how happy he had been at his own graduation, relieved to know that he never had to sit through another examination again. Maybe it was because her experience had been that much better than his, seeing how happy she was in every picture from her final semester at school. From their annual university pub crawl, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin, her third-year formal, and pulling her last all-nighter in the library before her Japanese literature final, she always had a smile on her face. 

 

When he turned the page, “ Notre Dernier Été ” was written largely at the top, pictures of her and her friends from university covering the pages as they took stereotypical tourist-y photos around Paris. Ones of all them “holding” the Eiffel Tower ( _ “It’s not as heavy as it looks!” _ ), Lane holding a french fry across her upper lip like a moustache ( _ “Starting to blend in with the locals nicely” _ ), and a picture of her mimicking the Mona Lisa with the painting in the background ( _ “Got us kicked out of the  _ _ Louvre… totally worth it _ ). He found himself chuckling at each one, the pictures growing increasingly more funny as the book went on. Images of her in a beret, singing into a baguette, playing the guitar while sitting in front of the Eiffel Tower filled the pages, John smiling as he watched the journey of her summer holiday. 

 

However, when he turned to the most recent page, he felt a small blush rise to his cheeks. She had arranged some pictures of her with everyone at The Laughing Fox, entitling the section  _ “New City, New Friends” _ with a small heart beside it. His eyes fell onto a candid of them together, him laughing at some stupid joke she had made. He was thankful Mary managed to capture the moment between them, loving the way Lane smiled up at him in the photograph. 

 

“I quite like that picture of us,” Lane spoke suddenly, John jumping in surprise before realizing she was standing behind him. “It’s proof that you think I’m funny.”   
“You are funny,” he confirmed, closing the book as she rounded the couch. His breath caught in his chest as he watched her, coughing a bit at the fact that she was in an oversized jumper and what appeared to be nothing underneath it.

“I’m aware,” she smirked, taking the album from him and putting it back. “Did you enjoy looking through those pictures while I was gone?” She teased, John’s cheeks reddening.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have. I was just-”

“John, I’m kidding! That’s what they’re there for. I’m surprised you picked this year’s.”   
“Why’s that?” 

“Oh, never mind,” She laughed awkwardly, eyes widening at herself. “The older ones are more boring anyways.”

“I’m sure they’re great! Let me see.”

“No, you’re not missing out on much. I promise.”

“I think that’s something for me to determine,” he smirked before walking over to the bookshelf. “Let’s take a look.”

Lane did her best to cover the albums with her small frame but failed miserably, John plucking the album from 1969 out from behind her. He shifted the album over her head, chuckling to himself as she attempted to grab it.

“John,”  she stated seriously, hands moving onto her hips. “Give it back.”   
“You said it was boring. Clearly, if you don’t want me to see it, that must not be the case.” 

He quickly shifted to open the album, holding it out of her reach..

“John, please,” she whispered, looking up at him pleadingly. 

John almost choked at her expression, his pupils dilating at her words. He shook his head of his thoughts. “You said it was boring.”

“It is.”

“Then let me see it if it’s so boring.”

She groaned quietly before hiding her face in her hands. “You know what, fine. I’ll be in the kitchen making tea. Enjoy!” Lane stormed out of the room with a small huff, John watching her confusedly before he moved to his original spot on the couch. 

 

The album began like her most recent one, however, her hair was significantly longer, falling right above her waist. The first photo was of her laying in the grass, her hair spread around her head in a golden halo, various wildflowers woven into it. John didn’t know why she wanted to hide the album from him, she looked absolutely stunning. He turned to next page and immediately snapped the album shut, hearing Lane cackle from the next room.  

“Get it now?” 

John remained silent as his eyes widened, trying to process what he had just seen. It was almost the same photo as the first, however, the image had been taken from farther away. The photographer was standing over her, Lane’s body  _ selectively _ covered with wild flowers from head to toe, the rest of her body completely bare. If he had thought she looked stunning before, he thought she looked absolutely remarkable now. 

“D-Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered slightly. “It’s… art.” 

Lane ran back into the room, mouth agape as she studied him. “What did you say?”

He swallowed thickly as he looked back at her, trying to think of anything but the image he had just seen.  _ “It’s art.” _

“So you get it! Thank  _ God _ ,” she said excitedly. “So many people take these pictures the wrong way.”

“Do they?” John’s voice was strained as he shifted a throw pillow onto his lap. “Don’t see how that could happen.”

“You’d be surprised,” she giggled as she sat down next to him, picking the album back up and resting it on top of the pillow. “That’s why I’m so scared of people going back into my older albums… among other things.”

“Other things?” John froze as he thought about what else could be in her album, not sure what would top nude photos of herself.

Lane paused momentarily as she bit down on her lip. “Well my past is a bit… different.”

“Different?”

“Well… I moved when I was fifteen.”

“Moving isn’t an abnormal thing,” he chuckled, nudging his knee against hers.

“No, I know that… it’s just that I moved to a  _ different _ kind of place.”

John looked at her questioningly as she stood up. “It’s easier if I just show you.” She carefully grabbed the album from 1966 before opening it, sighing quietly before moving to stand in front of him. She handed him the album wordlessly, John confused as he stared at the picture. A much younger version of herself stood in front of a sign labeled ‘The Farm’ wearing a large smile, doodles of flowers and peace signs surrounding the image. He shot her a puzzled expression, not understanding what she was trying to show him. Lane sighed before turning the page for him, shifting so she could sit down next to him. 

“Well… I moved to The Farm when I was fifteen.”

“I figured that much, but I don’t-”

“The Farm was… is… a commune… in New York.” Lane’s eyes fell to her lap as she spoke, hair falling in front of her face. “Moved cross-country the summer after my freshman year of high school.”

“You lived on a commune?” The sentence unconsciously fell from Deaky’s lips without thought, Lane’s shoulders falling at his comment.

“I’m not like that anymore though… not that living on a commune is bad or anything but-”

“No, Lane, it’s okay. I don’t think it’s weird,” he reassured her, moving his hand to rest on her knee. “I was just… surprised, is all.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before meeting his gaze, giving him a nervous smile. “I don’t tell very many people about The Farm,” she admitted quietly. “I’m always afraid of how they will react when I talk about it… not many people are too keen on being friends with the ‘dirty hippie’.”

John’s heart broke a bit as he watched her, seeing the obvious hurt within her hazel eyes. “I don’t think you’re a dirty hippie.”

“Well you haven’t seen all the pictures,” Lane chuckled dryly. “Or heard about anything that happened while I was there.”

“And I’m telling you that no number of pictures or stories about you and The Farm would make me think that.” John’s hand squeezed her knee gently before he shifted so he could flip through the photo album. Lane looked undeniably happy in every one of the images. Pictures of her dangling upside down in a tree, running through an open field of flowers, sitting around a large bonfire with her arms wrapped around the people next to her… The Farm looked to be like her own personal paradise. 

 

He paused on a picture of her standing arm and arm with a tall, bearded brunette, chuckling gently at the funny faces they were making at the camera. A small caption was scrawled along the bottom in an unrecognizable handwriting, the blunt all caps standing out against the looped font Lane had been using for the other pictures.  _ “ME AND MY SHADOW,” _ it read, crudely drawn stars on either side of the phrase. A small arrow had been drawn next to it, pointing to a short caption Lane had added on:  _ “We stick together like glue.” _

 

“Who’s that?” John asked, pointing to the man curiously.

Lane smiled slightly at the picture, remembering the day vividly. “That’s my brother Kenny… he’s who moved us cross-country.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” John smiled as he flipped through more pages. “Are you two close?”

“Very.” Lane’s tone was tight as she watched him look through the album. “Kenny’s my best friend.”

“He should come visit soon. I’d love to meet him.”   
Lane felt her breath catch in her chest, always hating when Kenny would come up among new friends. She hated going into it… she hated to bring the room down. “That’s not going to be able to happen,” she spoke quietly, moving to pick at her cuticles.

“Why’s that? Work or something?”

“Kenny… he was drafted into Vietnam in December of ‘69.”

“And he’s still over there?” He looked up from the book, pausing on an image of her and Kenny sitting on the front bumper of a Volkswagen van.

Lane remained silent for a moment, avoiding John’s gaze. “He died while he was there… a freak accident or something. Happened during my first year at Oxford.”

John’s face fell at her comment, wishing he hadn’t brought it up in the first place. “Lane, I’m so sorry. I-”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know, don’t blame yourself.” She waved her hand at him sadly. “It’s been almost three years now… about time I got used to talking about it.” She forced a small laugh before finally looking up at John.

He was silent for a moment, eyes softening as he looked at her. “My dad died when I was eleven… it’s been ten years and it’s still difficult for me to talk about it sometimes,” he spoke quietly, swallowing hard. “I know my pain isn’t the same as yours, and that we all deal with things differently… but I understand what it’s like to lose someone from your family.”

Lane felt her eyes well up for the third time that evening, hands moving to rub away the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks. “Kenny was all I had,” she started, voice quivering slightly. “Our dad left when I was born. He didn’t want a second child and my birth completely set him off. Dropped our mom at the hospital and… he was never heard from again. Mom changed a lot because of that… she didn’t want much to do with me since I was the reason he left. Kenny had to grow up way faster than he should have, suddenly being responsible for the child my mother didn’t want… she finally left one night when I was fourteen, leaving Kenny as my sole caretaker. He was only twenty at the time, had so much ahead of him… but he stepped up to the plate and he made it his mission to raise me in the best way that he could. That’s why he moved us to The Farm.” She leaned over and pointed to the van in the image John had been looking at before. “We lived in that van my entire freshman year of high school before we moved. He didn’t make enough money to pay rent on an apartment, so he’d park it in random parts of San Francisco and would walk everywhere. That way, I would always have a place to go after school and a place to sleep when he was on the night shift. He worked four jobs to make sure he could provide for us… I always offered to get a job so I could help but… he’d wave me off. He always put my education before anything. Always told me that I needed to put my brain first, he’d take care of the rest.”

John listened to her silently, his heart crumbling as she continued, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“We moved to The Farm the day after I finished school that year… Kenny had met a few guys through one of his jobs who told him about a ‘free-minded paradise’ on the East Coast. They told him about how you could live there for free as long as you did your share of work… and how it was strong community that really benefited young people like us. We drove there and made it in four days, Kenny sometimes driving well into the early hours of the morning before pulling over to sleep. He knew that if he were going to continue to take care of me, it was the best chance he was going to get. He never made a selfish decision in his life… he always lived his life to benefit others… I can only wish to be half the person he is… was.” 

“He sounds amazing, Lane.”

“He was… he’s still the best person I’ve ever known.”

“I can see where you get it from,” John nudged her knee, making her chuckle. “Knew you had to get it from somewhere.”   
“Ken was a much better person than I am… but he did his best to teach me. He probably wouldn’t give Rog as much shit as I do.”   
“Rog deserves it, you know that!” His eyes crinkled as he gave her a large smile.

“No, you’re right,” she laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Kenny would’ve given him shit too.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of them, heads shaking slightly. The kettle let out a loud screech from her kitchen, both of them jumping in surprise. “Shit, forgot I even put that on,” she breathed, hand clutched over her chest. “Want some tea?”

John nodded. “Please.”

 

Lane flipped through the remainder of the photo albums she had on her shelf as she and John finished the kettle. He was basking in the sound of her voice as she told him stories and anecdotes from her teenage years, loving to hear about the unknown side of her. The wild child who attended war protests in Washington, D.C., who took insane road trips every summer with her brother and their friends, who attended Woodstock and managed to be “sober enough” to have nearly perfect memory of it… John never thought she could become any more interesting than she already was.

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but his favorite album was the one from 1969. John hated how much he loved the newly found  _ artistry  _ she found once she turned eighteen… the kind that made him hold a pillow tightly across his lap as he did his best to focus on the stories she was telling rather than the photographs in front of him. He paused on an image taken of her the day before she left for university, her guitar placed on her lap as she gave the camera a wide smile. 

“I didn’t know you played guitar before tonight.”   
“Well, you didn’t know a lot of things about me before tonight,” she giggled, nudging his arm. “But yeah, it was a gift for my sixteenth birthday. They had thrifted it and repaired it heavily before giving it to me… one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.”

John nodded, turning back to the image. He stared at the acoustic for a moment, looking at the images she had painted on it over the years. The face of the instrument had been adorned in various flowers and other designs, the whole thing looking very  _ Lane _ . “You still have it?”   
“Yeah! Let me go grab it, hold on.” Lane jumped off the couch and ran to her bedroom, offering it to John when she returned. “It looks a bit different now… I repainted it a few times during college.”   
He smiled up at her as he admired the work. “This is awesome! Never heard of anyone doing this to a guitar.”   
“Well you know me, never one to do the usual thing…  plus, I never liked the look of the bare wood. Thought it was boring.”

He chuckled before handing it back to her, admiring Lane as she strummed quietly. “Play me something.”   
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.”   
“And why not?”   
“Because  _ you’re _ a professional musician who’s being signed by EMI records and  _ I _ taught myself by watching other people in drum circles. Not going to happen.”

“C’mon, I’m not going to judge you! I bet you’re amazing.”

“Deaks,” she spoke, her tone stern as she drummed her fingers on the top of the instrument.   
John smirked at her, cocking his head to the side. “Penelope.”

“You know, calling me a name I hate isn’t helping you make your case.”

“You called me a nickname, only thought it was fair. You almost exclusively call me John.”

Lane rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “You’re never going to drop this, are you?”   
“That’s correct, Penelope Elaine. I’ll be calling you by your full name until you play for me.”   
“You’re an annoying piece of shit. You know that, right?”   
“I’m aware.”

Lane sighed as she looked down at her lap, adjusting the guitar slightly. “Alright. I’ll play for you under two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“One, you can’t judge me.”   
“I already said I wouldn’t do that, love.”   
“And two, you play me something afterwards.”

John paused momentarily, cocking his head to the side. “Well I play the bass so-”

“I know for a fact that you can play the guitar. Don’t play dumb.” Lane’s face deadpanned as she looked across at him.

“Fine. I agree to your conditions.”

Lane nodded wordlessly as she looked down at her fingers, laughing quietly. “Don’t know what I should play.”

“Play anything.”   
“Wow, that was really helpful,” she teased, looking up momentarily. 

He raised his hands in defense, giving her a small smile. “I’m just trying to be of assistance.”

Lane rolled her eyes before shifting the capo, plucking the strings a few times. “You promise you’re not going to judge me?”   
“Yes!”

“Okay, okay… here we go.” Her eyes fell as she began to strum quietly, a curtain of blonde hair falling in front of her face as she began to sing along.  _ “Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you, birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me.” _

John’s cheeks reddened at her choice of song, wishing she’d realize his feelings for her. Deep down, he knew she didn’t pick that song for the reason he wished, to admit her love for him… however, as he felt a swell in his heart, he pretended that it was. As she finished, she looked up at him bashfully, biting her bottom lip before setting the guitar between them. 

“Lane, that was amazing!” John smiled breathlessly, trying to comprehend how beautiful she looked in that moment. Golden curls flowing past her shoulders, her too large jumper completely engulfing her form, her hazel eyes somehow still sparkling despite it nearing six in the morning. She had never looked more stunning.

She blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t call it amazing… but thank you.” 

“No, trust me. That was… perfect.”

Lane cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously, running a hand through her hair. “Well go on then, your turn.”

He suddenly felt his face fall, now regretting their deal. While he did want to hear her play, the idea of having to pick a song made him want to pull his hair out. “U-Uhm… do you… like The Beatles?”   
Lane rolled her eyes before laughing, kicking his shin lightly. “John, sweetheart, everyone loves The Beatles.”

“I just wanted to make sure!”

“I’m kidding!” She giggled, nudging the guitar closer to him. “I have every Beatles record… I love them.”

“Do you have a favorite album?”   
“Are you trying to stall so you don’t have to play for me?”

“No!” John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was just wondering because I could… I don’t know, play a song from that album. But that sounds lame, I’ll just p-”

“Oh no, John, I’m sorry. That’s really sweet of you.” Lane smiled, tilting her head slightly. “But picking a favorite is pretty hard… I’m quite fond of their earlier stuff though! The ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ single was the first record I ever bought with my own money… the B-side was ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ and I remember playing those two songs on a constant loop until Kenny bought me the full record. He was so sick of hearing those same lyrics for hours on end.”

“That was really sweet of him.”   
“It was definitely to benefit his own sanity though, believe me.”

John laughed before placing the instrument in his lap, shifting the pillow to his feet. “‘I Want to Hold Your Hand,’ aye?” He asked, watching her nod quickly. “Think I remember the chords for that one.”

“If you don’t, I can always help you, love.” Lane’s voice dripped in amusement as she sent him a teasing smirk.

John rolled his eyes as he chuckled slightly. “Pretty sure I can handle it on my own.”

 

Lane settled back into the cushion behind her as she watched him intently, John’s gaze falling as he played for her. He tried to mask his blush as he sang along quietly, never being a big fan of his own voice. However, as he finished the song and looked up at Lane, her reaction made him want to do it more often.

“I’ve never heard you sing before.”   
“I know… I don’t like to do it all that oft-”

“Please do it more. Your voice is quite lovely.”

“Thank you.” John’s face flushed a deeper shade as he set the guitar down on the coffee table in front of them, his bottom lip being taken between his teeth.

 

A short silence fell between them before Lane yawned quietly, her eyes blinking up at him. John shifted to check the time on his watch, shaking his head at the time. 

“What is it?” She asked quietly, stifling another yawn with her sleeve.

“It’s nearing half six already,” he laughed, shaking his head at how much time they’d spent together. “You should probably get to bed, Lane.”

She nodded slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Would you like to stay over?”

John’s heart stopped beating for a moment as her words hung in the air. “Pardon?”

“Would you like to stay over? I don’t want to kick you out when it’s so late… well… early, I guess.”

John wanted nothing more than to stay over, even if that meant he slept on the couch. However, the fact that he had rehearsal in a few hours hung over his head, ruining her offer.

“I wish I could but… I-I have rehearsal later and I should probably go home and shower beforehand.”

Lane nodded before giving him a small smile. “Don’t worry, John. I completely understand.” She shifted herself off the couch, reaching her arms above her head as she stretched slightly.

“Thank you for tonight, Lane.”   
“I should be the one thanking you. I’m the one who invited you in because I was so…”

John waved off her comment before he pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind one bit.” 

Lane wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, nuzzling her nose into his chest for a moment. “Call me later, alright? I want to make sure you made it home okay.”   
“Right, because the half a block is such a treacherous journey,” he chuckled, nudging her arm gently.

Lane rolled her eyes before pushing him towards the door, stopping herself when John was leaned against it. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”   
“Of course.” 

“Goodnight, John.”   
“Sweet dreams, Lane.”

 

As John walked home that morning, he swore that no feeling could have ever topped the way he felt in that instant. As he flopped face first onto his bed, his mind could only be consumed with one thing:  _ Lane _ … and he didn’t want it any other way. 

  
  



End file.
